Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

           ’

           ‘Whatdoyoumean?’

           ‘Gone,mydearsir—lastcoat—can’thelpit.Livedonapairofboots—wholefortnight.Silkumbrella—ivoryhandle—week—fact—honour—askJob—knowsit.’

           ‘Livedforthreeweeksuponapairofboots,andasilkumbrellawithanivoryhandle!’exclaimedMr.Pickwick,whohadonlyheardofsuchthingsinshipwrecksorreadoftheminConstable’sMiscellany.

           ‘True,’saidJingle,noddinghishead.‘Pawnbroker’sshop—duplicateshere—smallsums—merenothing—allrascals.’

           ‘Oh,’saidMr.Pickwick,muchrelievedbythisexplanation;‘Iunderstandyou.Youhavepawnedyourwardrobe.’

           ‘Everything—Job’stoo—allshirtsgone—nevermind—saveswashing.Nothingsoon—lieinbed—starve—die—inquest—littlebone-house—poorprisoner—commonnecessaries—hushitup—gentlemenofthejury—warden’stradesmen—keepitsnug—naturaldeath—coroner’sorder—workhousefuneral—servehimright—allover—dropthecurtain.’

           Jingledeliveredthissingularsummaryofhisprospectsinlife,withhisaccustomedvolubility,andwithvarioustwitchesofthecountenancetocounterfeitsmiles.Mr.Pickwickeasilyperceivedthathisrecklessnesswasassumed,andlookinghimfull,butnotunkindly,intheface,sawthathiseyesweremoistwithtears.